I thumb back to the list of messages out of habit, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything else, because I do that sometimes.
I see Celine’s name there, and the message underneath: LettersFromTheDeepYellowSea.com. Her website.
Maybe you can learn more about modern Chinese culture.
And she was at the party.
Couldn’t hurt to take a look.
Celine’s blog is in English. That’s interesting, I think. English language blogs don’t get as much attention from the censors as Chinese language do. Which would make sense for the kind of China Sex and the City stuff I figure she’s doing from that “Yellow” in her blog title.
It is so boring sometimes, being a young girl in a city like Beijing. If you are not a member of their class, then you must be more attractive and more clever in your flattery when you are trying to get ahead in this place.
It’s best not to settle for a man your own age. They don’t usually have good jobs or incomes. Your best bet is to find a local official who is looking for a girlfriend. This has many advantages. For example, a parking place when you want it. Getting your phone and Internet hooked up quickly, making sure you breathe filtered air. Taking you to restaurants you could never afford yourself and ordering an emperor’s feast, with fine French wine to wash it down, and you must eat it, you must eat it all. Telling you not every girl deserves this.
This is what it means to taste the new life, in the new society. We must gather it into our mouths, rip into it with our teeth, and taste its raw, warm blood.
Ooh-kay. That was not what I was expecting from Celine. I was thinking more, lots of designer brands, parties, booze, drugs, and hookups. Not all… whatever this is.
She posted this entry tonight, it looks like.
I scroll down to the one before.
It is so wonderful to have tradition to fall back on. To fall into, into its cold, hard grip. Of course, you can have it your way, soft, fresh, and young, whatever you can afford. You don’t have to return it in perfect condition. Tradition is your foundation as well as your excuse.
The time stamp says she posted it two nights ago. Three nights after Tiantian’s party.
I feel that prickling on the back of my neck I get when I’m close to something I want to know but that I know is dangerous. And I’m wondering just what Celine saw, that night at Tiantian’s place.
So many girls think they want a rich lover. It is true this is a cruel country to be poor in. But I know a girl who has a tuhao boyfriend, and she is not so happy. She can never feel secure. He buys her nice gifts, but he can buy anything, including other girls. He only wants to fuck her now and again, and it is all for his pleasure, not for hers.
But the parties, she likes the parties. She likes the presents he gives her, the designer bags and the jewelry. She likes riding in his Lamborghini, she likes being seen with him. He is important, and if she is with him, then she must be important, right? But she knows she is not. She is nothing. She is just another thing he bought, and when he gets tired of her, he can just throw her away.
Tonight I will go to a party with my friend and her rich boyfriend. We can drink the best champagne, we can take E or K if we like, and we can dance on our private dance floor for hours and hours, and everyone will admire her for her good fortune. But if I ask her if she is happy, I know how she will answer.
The date on that entry lines up with Gugu’s party, the one at Entránce.
I skim a couple of others. Cynical, funny descriptions of Beijing’s privileged class, of parties and expensive champagne, of designer clothes and bags, of sex and drugs. But nothing that’s quite like those two posts at the end.
I wonder if Betty’s the girlfriend and Celine’s the observer or if Celine’s the girlfriend and she’s just describing things like they’re happening to someone else. Sometimes it’s easier to think about things that way.
There’s a place to sign up to receive blog posts by email. I do that, using a Yahoo! address that isn’t linked to my real name-at least I don’t think it is. You never really know. One thing I’ve learned is that nothing you do is really private anymore, if someone wants to find out bad enough.
Should I call her? It’s after 11:00 p.m. Probably not late for Celine, given all these late nights with the rich folk she’s blogging about.
I find her on my messages and press call.
A burst of music, some Mandopop. “Duibuqi, nin bodade yonghu zanshi wufa jietong, qing shaohou zai bo.” Sorry, the subscriber you dialed is busy. Please try again later.
I disconnect.
I decide to write a text. Something simple.
i read some of your blog. i enjoyed it a lot. i’d like to talk to you about it.
And I hit send.
After that I change into my sleeping T-shirt and sweats. Toss my party clothes into the hamper. I am so done with all this shit. I pad around the living room, beer in hand, thinking if I get arrested or deported, at least I won’t have to look for a new apartment. Because I’m going to have to get a new place. No way around it.
I guess it won’t be so bad. Hardly anything here is mine. Most of the furniture came with the apartment. I’ve got some kitchen stuff, a computer, a TV, a few pieces of art. I could move to a smaller place, easy. I don’t really need this much room. There’s my mom to think about it, but truth be told, she’s practically living with Andy as it is. I’m tempted to ask her how this squares with the whole Christian thing, but she told me once she has a weakness when it comes to men, and I guess if Christ forgives us our sins, hers are pretty small in the scheme of things. Hey, I remember when I was going through my Christian phase, I wasn’t exactly chaste.
For all the bullshit we’ve been through, she’s a good person. I know that. And the crazy thing is, she’s happier than I’ll probably ever be.
Sometimes you just have to go for it.
I’d go for it if I had a clue what “it” even was.
I can’t fall asleep.
I keep hearing things, sounds out in the hall, random creaks, and I think I should’ve gotten Mimi from Mom and Andy. She’d keep watch for me. Because no matter what John says, no matter who he has staking out my place, Uncle Yang’s budget for hit men is probably bigger. As is Tiantian’s. Or Gugu’s. And let’s not forget Meimei and crazy Dao Ming.
The wind’s howling, too. Coming from the north, and they say the dust will come with it.
I lie in bed and wonder how can I suggest to my mom that she just move in with Andy already. It has to be safer for her with him than living here with me.
Even if she’d be just across the hall.
Maybe I can talk them into a vacation. Preferably out of the country.
I’m finally drifting off when I hear the chime of an incoming text. I fumble around for my phone.
Celine.
My pulse picks up. I get that feeling again: I’m on the track of something. Weird thing is, I’m starting to like it.
glad you enjoy my blog. sure, we can talk about it.
great, I type. when?
now?
okay, I type. i’ll call you.
better to talk in person.
This does not strike me as a great idea.
it’s pretty late, I type. how about tomorrow?
i’m busy tomorrow. come to my apartment tonight. i’m in caochangdi, you know caochangdi?
Caochangdi is a Beijing suburb just northeast of 798 Arts District, a little village that used to be a commune and turned into an art center all its own, thanks to Ai Weiwei building a bunch of studio spaces there. It hasn’t gone completely upscale the way 798 has, so there are some actual working artists there, galleries, too.
sure, I type. i know it.